To Trust a River
by Ray Marie
Summary: Harry Potter's seventh year at Hogwarts. People change, and so do their hearts. Featuring the Thirteenth Centennial Ball, Lavender and the pink hair, Seamus naked, Unforgivable Curses, St. Mungo's and more.


Chapter One: Change Gon' Come

. . . And all that came before

You opened up the door

Cause of you 

Change gon' come . . . 

-india.arie, "Intro"

            "You know, there's absolutely no reason to pick and prod at your food like that, Harry."

            Harry looked up from his plate of mashed potatoes, peas and chicken. So far, he had eaten none of it, merely readjusted everything. At his side, Hermione's meal was half eaten and the fork and knife lay neatly on the plate. The dinner table was just beginning to fill up as students slowly arrived from dorms, practices and the library. Harry smiled and looked at his best friend inquisitively. "What's wrong with the way I eat?"

            Hermione gave him a half smile and shrugged. "All I'm saying is if you're going to eat it, eat it. But don't play with it. That's extremely childish."

            "I'm seventeen, don't you think I can decide how and when I eat my food?"

            She looked at him a moment longer, and then back at her own dinner, cheeks going slightly pink. "Just a suggestion," she muttered under her breath. 

            "No she doesn't, Potter," came a voice from above them both. Harry's head snapped up. He looked up to see Ron, grinning as he looked down at him from above. "Believe me, Harry. There's no point in asking her that," his tone light, the teasing finished.

            "I don't recall anyone addressing you, Ron," said Hermione softly. She looked away, past both the boys, around the Great Hall, her mind obviously elsewhere for the moment.

            He took a seat across from his two fellow seventh years. "No one did," he admitted. "But as the third party, I insisted on stepping in to avoid a possible outbreak of violence." Hermione narrowed her eyes and looked at him again.

            Harry snickered and began to pick at his food again. "Where've you been?"

            Ron sighed and began to serve himself from the center of the table. "McGonagall wanted to talk to me about my selection of classes for this year. Of course, she couldn't do this back on the first or second day of school. She had to wait until today right when I had-"

            "Ron, you do realize that our selections begin tomorrow? We get our official schedule," Hermione told him matter-of-factly, "She's probably been busier than any of us could imagine."

            "I don't even remember what I chose," Harry admitted, doing his best to recall the last days of their sixth year.

            The Seventh Year students had their schedule arranged differently than the rest of the students. It was only slightly awkward; for the first week of school, they attended 'review' classes in each of their basic subjects before beginning advanced classes for the rest of the year.

            It was just the beginning of their seventh year, September 8th, one week into the semester. Already, Harry'd been keeping himself occupied with his prefect duties and already to his job as Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. This was his second year as such, and as such he'd led the team to an outstanding victory. Luck. Not like his fifth year.

            Their fifth year had been the most outstanding year for Gryffindor Quidditch in fifty years. An undefeated season, even when after the Snitch was caught by Harry (Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw) that resulted in a draw, causing there to be a rematch, in which Gryffindor led Ravenclaw by two hundred thirty points. That year, the team had been composed of entirely seventh years (not including Harry; the elected keeper for that year had been Jeremy Arnold, a stout boy in Fred and George's year). What made Harry call his previous year's success 'lucky' was the fact that after his fifth year, he was the only remaining team member. Six positions had to be filled, and as a new captain, that was a difficult job. 

            The people he chose weren't inexperienced per say; Ron had played with his brothers for years and Seamus caught on to the game quite easily. It was more a focus of getting everyone to work as a team; Harry wanted them to function as the well oiled machine the Gryffindor Quidditch team had been under Angelina's guidance.

            His prefect nomination back then had been a surprise, and he graciously accepted. But being a prefect didn't take up most of his time. Quidditch was most of his life. One thing he hadn't focused on at all was what Ron had deemed: 'his dying, rambunctious soul.' 

"Harry," Ron had told him one day after a trip to Hogsmeade, "Sometimes, I'll admit, you completely throw me off. Back there, at the pub, you laughed and joked and acted thick just like the rest of us. You were off your rocker. And it was great. But sometimes, it seems like you might as well be an old guy in bed clipping the Daily Prophet and trying to find your glasses. Can you remind me of your age?" 

In retrospect, he was right, Harry conceded. For a sixteen year old boy, Harry had paid an especially large amount of attention to his studies and to being a good captain for Gryffindor. He hadn't taken note of how his friends were spending time away from him.

During their sixth year, Ron and Hermione had both branched out from their tightly woven trio to find friends outside their group. Hermione started to spend more time with students outside of Gryffindor. If she wasn't with Harry and Ron, or a few of her Ravenclaw mates (most of whom had graduated the year before), she simply enjoyed her solitude. Ron had become very close with the other seventh year boys, especially Dean and Seamus. Harry, instead, chose not to act as Ron and Hermione did. He preferred to spend his time apart and on his own. It was a rare occasion that he actually took up one of Ron's offers to go to Hogsmeade after classes with a few of his newer mates.

"Argh! Harry, you're being slow!" roared Todd Blackburn as he ran toward him from the other end of the Gryffindor table.

Harry grinned and looked up at the Gryffindor Beater. He was a small for a sixth year, but muscular, though not thick looking. His hair was dark, near black, as were his eyes compared to his pale, white skin. A wide smile always seemed to be plastered onto his face, something reminiscent of Fred and George Weasley, as though he found everything in the world particularly amusing.

            "And how is that, Blackburn?" Harry demanded.

            Nearly shouting, Todd punched his shoulder playfully as he passed by. "Three positions open! Three, and you've yet to fill them. When do you plan on it?"

            "This is only the first week of school, I suppose we have a tiny bit of time."

            Seamus passed Todd as he walked toward his mates. He grinned and slid into the seat next to Harry. "I see, one of those 'haste makes waste' types. I'm sure you'll be happy when you're going on one hundred and you realize that you forgot to pick up your suit from the dry cleaners."

            Ron turned to him inquisitively. "What's a dry cleaners?"

            "One of the joys of being Muggle born, or half in my case, my friend," Seamus tapped his nose and reached into the middle of the table, dropping a spoonful of potatoes onto his plate. "It's our little secret."

            "Sounds boring," replied Ron. "What are you concerned about Team matters? What makes you so sure your dumb arse is still on the team?"

            Hermione cringed. "Language, Ron . . . please," she winced.

            "I'm brilliant, Weasley. You know that. Don't be a jealous pr-"

            "You too, Seamus!" she exclaimed, putting down her silverware. She tapped the Head Girl badge she pinned to her robes and raised an eyebrow. "Would you swear like that during class?"

            "Probably, Herm," Seamus remarked. "Good to see you too. How was your summer?"

            "I'm very serious, Finnigan."

            Ron reached across the table and took her right hand between his, grinning sympathetically. "It's okay, Hermione, calm down. He didn't mean-"

            "Yes, I did-" Seamus began quickly, turning pink as his frustration with Hermione grew. 

            But Ron interrupted once again. "No, he didn't. No one meant to disrespect you, or anyone. And Seamus'll watch his mouth, I swear."

            Hermione blushed furiously and pulled away beginning to stand. She looked down at the three Gryffindor boys. "I've got revision to do, and you all should too. They aren't going to have time to review in our new classes. We'll be expected to know all this! Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't believe you remember everything we learned last year." She turned to walk away, "Harry, Ron, I'll meet you both in the Common Room later. Have a good evening, Seamus." Hermione turned on her heel and began to leave, glancing over her shoulder twice before she completely disappeared out the Great Hall doors.

            "Jesus, she always acts like she has a stick up her arse," Seamus muttered. "Bloody annoying."

            "Seamus!" Harry barked.

            Seamus shrugged. "Well, it's true."

            "Yes, and we all know how much you know."

            Harry stopped picking at his food as he watched Hermione go. Ron had suddenly taken interest in his food at was munching away happily. Seamus took another swig of his Pumpkin juice. "She even walks like she's got a stick up there . . . ."

            "Pretty one track minded, eh, Seamus?" Ron grinned and winked.

            Seamus threw a carrot from his plate at Harry. It bounced off his cheek and fell into his lap. Harry looked back down and made a face. Then, he picked it up and threw it back at his friend. "Twit," he said, going back to his food.

            "Potter, you with us?" demanded Seamus, shoving his captain.

            Ron grinned as he chewed. "What are you looking at?"

            "Oh!" Seamus jumped as he grinned mischievously back at Ron. "You know, I bet Lavender was wearing that skirt again. You know, the one she hemmed . . . maybe one thousand times."

            Harry's eyes snapped back to his best friend as he felt his face getting warmer. Harry put down his silver ware and furrowed his brow. "Sod off, Ron."

            "He was looking at a girl. These things I know," Seamus nodded slowly. "I have experience."

            Ron threw a pea at him. "Experience? Please. With who? You've never snogged anyone in your life."

            "Believe it or not," Seamus tossed a carrot back, which Ron snatched out of the air and popped into his mouth. "But girls want me."

            "Like who?"

            "Your mother."

            Ron went bright red as Seamus began to laugh wildly, his joke possibly the most amusing thing he'd ever heard. The red head searched for a proper insult back. "You'd better take that back, Finnigan, you stupid wanker."

            "Don't have a fit. And don't act like such a swotty, nancy boy, Ron. It'll only make you cry more when the Falmouth Falcons crush the Chudley Cannons."

            "Oh, Merlin . . ." Ron breathed, dropping his fork and throwing his hands up in frustration. "Such a sad case of denial, Seamus. The Falcons should be renamed the Blue Jays."

            "Ouch, Ron." Seamus rolled his eyes. "Think of a better insult next time."

            Ron turned bright red.

            Harry looked from Seamus to Ron, "You know, you'll never agree on this."

            "I don't know why," Seamus conceded. "Ron is simply in denial, I figure."

            "Eat dragon dung, arse hole," Ron snapped, glaring at the boy. "And just for the record, the Chudley Cannons _will _make their comeback."

            "Like hell they'll make a comeback."

            "What did you say?" asked Harry.

            "Nothing important. And for just for the _record_," he sneered, purely enjoying the look of torment on Harry's face, "The last Cannon comeback was in 1812. I don't think that there's much of a comeback coming."

            "You git," muttered Ron.

            Todd laughed. "Don't be mad because the Cannons are pathetic."

            "The Chudley Cannons rule."

            "The Chudley Cannons . . . how can I put this gently- . . . they suck arse."

            "Stop!"

            "No thanks."

            "The Chudley Cannons rule."

            Harry stood to leave. "You know, this could go on for a very long time."

            "Yeah."

~~~~~~~

            Seamus ran up to Dean at the other end of the Great Hall. "Hey, Thomas, hang on a second, would you?" The seventh year turned around to look at the boy coming toward him. He leaned on one of the open Entrance Hall doors. In his arms, Seamus carried a ball. "How about a game of Football, Aussie Rules? Come on, I promise not to break any bones or anything."

            "Sorry, mate, I'm going to be busy this afternoon."

            "I see," he nodded slowly, just a hint of disappointment evident on his face. "Maybe Ron will be free."

            Dean gave him a smile and punched him playfully on his arm. "Besides, don't you have a date or reading or revision to tend to?" he winked. 

            "You're the one revising all the time, Thomas."

            "And you wonder why I'm a hit with the ladies."

            "Sure," Seamus grinned and rubbed the back of his neck. "Women my _mother's_ age."

            "Oh, sod off. I'll play with you later."

            "Fine then," he turned to walk away. "Bye, Dean."

            "Bye, Seamus."

            Dean walked back out onto the grounds, his watercolors and brushes in hand. His sketchbook, nearly filled, rested comfortably in his bag, as well as a few graphite pencils. The bright sun shined down upon him, making him significantly warmer. His face, still a few shades darker brown, like rich dark chocolate, tanned from the summer. It had rained the entire first week of school, and he'd been stuck inside the castle, drawing the interior architecture. And that only held his attention so long. Dean was eager to find a new place to sit outside. Rather than  go to his usual spot by the lake where the boys played Quidditch and rugby, which Dean made a point of teaching everyone the year before, he opted to head to another spot along the lake, where three large trees with branches hanging like weeping willows stood tall.

            He slowed as he approached, noticing someone already sitting underneath the trees. He didn't know her; she wasn't a Gryffindor. She, like him, wasn't wearing her robes. She had on her gray, pleated skirt and a gray cardigan over a white collared shit. As he approached, her features became more defined. Long, black braids were twisted into a bun.

            "Anyone sitting here?" he asked as he came closer.

            The girl, a Ravenclaw Dean noted as he approached (the bronze and royal blue tie 

was a bit of a tip off), barely looked up at him. "Does it look like it?"

            "Thanks," he muttered taking a seat. It only took a few minutes before Dean became immersed in his work, drawing madly. Not far from where the two of them were sitting, three first year Hufflepuffs had their feet in the water. Quickly and with amazing precision, he sketched them, leaving details out, outlining their bodies. Suddenly, Dean stopped, satisfied with what he'd done.

            "That's very good," came her voice at his side.

            Dean looked up and grinned. "You know . . . I thought someone was watching."

            She raised an eyebrow. "Don't flatter yourself, I haven't been staring the entire time."

            "Just the past twenty minutes?"

            She looked back down at her own drawing. It had only a few pencil strokes on it, 

leaving the majority of the pad blank. "I'm . . . so uninspired."

            Dean reached over and took her pad. "If I may?" She kept her hands on the book for a moment longer, holding it still in her lap with Dean's hands out, waiting. She looked down, thinking a moment, and then handed it to him.

            He flipped through the pages. There were some sketches, but most of the drawings had been painted in acrylics and oil paints. Vibrant colors stood out against the white paper, grabbing his attention. "These are all pretty spiffy yourself . . . what's the problem?"

            "I work . . . when I paint, there's usually something that makes me want to," she was hesitant to speak, "But today . . ." she threw up her hands in frustration. "I've got nothing."

            "I'm sure you do somewhere in there, don't you?" he handed her the book back and pointed at the lake. "What do you see?"

            "The lake."

            "And?"

            "Some trees . . . look, I'm not feeling very . . . in tune with the right side of my brain today-"

            "Hush, what else do you see? Something you've never seen before."

            She stood up , leaving Dean to look up at her from below. She was taller than he had assumed. "There's noth-" A quick 'shh' from Dean silenced her for a few more seconds. She stood, waiting to spot something, anything. Her eyes wandered back and forth, from the horizon to just ten feet in front of her. Finally, her eyes spotted something. "Those rocks . . . right there. To the right . . . where it sort of dips in a little? You see?"

            Dean stood up, gathering his things. "Yes. What is it there?"

            "Those three rocks . . . the come . . . sort of like . . . a bay almost. Between there . . . two flowers are growing. You see it, right?"

            He looked at her and gave the Ravenclaw his best smile, flashing all of his pearly whites. "You know what, I never ever caught your name . . . ."

            She took a step back and put out her hand. "Lisa Turpin." The name rang a bell. Dean remembered back to his first year. Yes. She'd been sorted right after him. "I know who you are though."

            "Do you really?"

            "I could suck up and moan about how you're such a great Head Boy . . . but it's only a week into term, yeah?"

            He laughed. "I've got to get to a prefect meeting. Duty calls, I suppose. But . . . maybe I'll see you around?"

            "Definitely, Dean. Definitely."

~~~~~~~

            Hermione stood in front of the mirror, staring at herself. All aspects of her uniform fell into place, just as it should've in her opinion. "How do I look?" she asked, twilling around carefully, looking at her shining, black Mary Janes.

            "Oh, love," the mirror said gently, "You look absolutely fine. Except you need to button the top button on your sweater, dear."

            She reached up and fixed her sweater, pulling it closed; the robes she'd worn to classes earlier were draped over the foot of her bed, left. "Good," she muttered, walking away from the full length mirror beside Parvati's wardrobe to her own bed where she had laid out her things. The seventh year girls' dorm room was empty, save Hermione, as it had been all day. Many of the sixth and seventh years were taking advantage of their full Hogsmeade privileges as well as the warm weather to be outside, on the grounds and in the village.

            "Have I got everything?" Hermione asked herself under her breath. Then, feeling sure, she quickly walked out of her bedroom. The click clack of her rapid heels on the stone steps filled the nearly silent spiral staircase. Walking as fast as she could, Hermione crossed through and exited the quiet common room.

            Ginny fell into step behind her: "Where are you going?"

            Hermione jumped what felt to her like a mile high. She put a hand to her chest as she whirled around to look at the girl. "Ginny . . . you scared me half to death. When did you get there . . . here?"

            She smiled and approached her slowly. "I saw you run out of the Common Room. Where are you going?" she repeated.

            "The Prefect meeting. Head Girl, you know?"

            "Yes," Ginny nodded, "I noticed. I was just about to head to the Prefect meeting room myself. But what's your rush?"

            "Just . . . I wanted to be there early. But I'm late," she began to walk again. Ginny fell into step beside her, thick, red curls bouncing with every step. "I haven't the slightest idea why . . . I suppose I just lost track of time."

            "Something else on your mind?"

            Hermione came to a stop in front of the large wooden door. She looked up at the golden plaque that clearly read in engraved scrawl: 'Prefect Meeting Room.' Hermione opened the door and stepped to the side. "No," she muttered firmly. "Going in?"

            Ginny gave Hermione a sympathetic smile and walked into the large room. In the center was a long, rectangular table with twenty-six chairs around it. Each of them had a sign on the back, made in the same fashion as the sign on the door leading in. Six chairs neatly said the word Hufflepuff, and six had the word Slytherin. On the other side of the table were six of Ravenclaw and six for Gryffindor. 

            The room already was nearly filled, although not completely yet. The only people sitting down were the Hufflepuffs who were whispering quietly among themselves. Hermione crossed to put her things down and take her seat at the head of the table. Ginny, meanwhile, walked over to the male prefect for her year, Colin.

            "What took you so long to get here, Gin?" he asked, giving her his best smile. "I though you forgot about it all."

            Ginny leaned against the wall next to him and looked across the room at Harry, who was sitting alone at the table, deep in thought. "I didn't . . ." she trailed off, watching him intently.

             It was strange that such a small, girlish crush should last so long. True, throughout her six years at Hogwarts, other crushes came and went, and back in her fourth year, for a short while Ginny even went out with Colin (who proved to be a much better friend than boyfriend). But her attraction to Harry had sustained. If anything, it had grown since she first met him at Platform 9 ¾ when she was only ten.

            There was no doubt that Ginny thought he was good looking; it was hard not to be impressed by the short, dark haired boy who had wore thick, broken glasses as he turned into a handsome young man. But she liked more than just his entrancing emerald eyes. Harry was someone who'd overcome a lot. And each year at Hogwarts he only had more to deal with, from teachers with a will to kill him, to learning about his past. Harry dealt with more in a past few years than Ginny could speak of for her lifetime.

            Ginny turned to Colin. "Colin," she said quietly as they began walking toward their spots at the table; Dean had just walked in, and with both the Head Boy and Head Girl present, the meeting could commence. 

            "What is it?"

            "You're . . . usually pretty aware of what's going on in the . . . well, in Gryffindor, right?"

            "If I remember correctly, you live there too."  

            "I know. I just wanted to ask you something. Incase I had," she paused, "missed something or other."

            Colin came to a stop, crossing his arms over his chest and blinking his dark brown eyes a few times before a smile began to spread across his face. "What is it?" he repeated.

            She dipped her head. "I only wondered if you knew if Harry was interested in anyone. Currently."

            He grinned. "I'm not sure . . . I suppose you'll have to ask Harry that one, won't you?"

            "Colin-"

            "You know I can't say, Virginia. Since when does Harry tell me _his _business?"

~~~~~~~

            Hermione and Dean looked at each other from opposite ends of the table. "This meeting needs to come to order. Please pay attention, it'll be brief," Dean called out, beckoning the remaining people standing to the table, "Then you can get back to whatever you were doing."

            Harry lifted his head up off his arms. He yawned and sat up straight, ready to do his best to pay attention for the next twenty minutes. Dean was flipping through a few papers on the table while Hermione looked around the room waiting for Draco to sit down. He and Blaise, who he had been talking to in the corner, sauntered over, both giving Hermione and Dean their most irritated look. Harry watched them for another moment before turning his attention to Hermione.

            "We have two orders of business to cover today," Hermione said slowly, taking a scroll from off the table which she carefully unrolled as she spoke. "First, McGonagall would like me to go over the precise disciplinary measures to be taken with students. For some of you, this'll just be a reminder; if you do know everything on the list, please remain silent, as it'll only take a few minutes."

            As he sighed, Harry leaned back in his chair, preparing for a long speech of some sort. The parchment was in no matter 'short.'

            "Curfew is to be strictly maintained. First, second, and third years are to be in the Common Room by eight thirty and in bed, lights out at ten unless specific permission has been granted by the Head of House to stay up for revision, completion of homework, or any other permissible matter," Hermione paused and looked around the table to make sure everyone was still paying attention. Harry did too. As it turned out, very few people were. "Fourth and fifth years are expected to be present in the Common Room by nine fifteen, and in bed, lights out at ten thirty," she smiled, "Unless also granted special permission. Sixth and seventh years, who have unlimited Hogsmeade privileges are expected to be present in the Common Room by ten fifteen at the latest. There is no lights out time for those in sixth and seventh form."

            Growing bored of the meeting, Harry tuned out, letting his thoughts wander. What did he have to do soon? Quidditch tryouts would have to be held, and that would take quite a bit of work and planning. 

            "Each Prefect should familiarize his or herself with the school rules available in the Prefect Meeting room, the library, the Headmaster's office, each Head of House's office, and the caretaker."

            Blaise Zabini, who had been scowling down at her copy of the letter from McGonagall, turned her cold glare upward at Hermione. "So what if we think one of you has a problem?" She smirked and exchanged glances with Draco.

            Dean clenched his jaw, glaring angrily at her, then at Draco, who'd been silent since Dean arrived, daring him to say anything. "If you think one of us has a problem, you take it up with us first. Got that?"

            Draco smirked, still not talking. His clear, gray eyes locked with Dean's and then turned to look at Hermione. He tipped back on the hind two legs of the chair, finally speaking. "Are we done now?" was all he said.

            "No," Dean snapped. "We only have one more thing to talk about: the ball."

            Lavender, who had been writing since she arrived in the meeting room, perked up and grinned, flashing all her sparkling white teeth. From next to her, Mandy Brocklehurst jabbed her in the ribs, stopping her from bursting out in a fit of wild giggles. Lavender raised her hand slowly, biting her lip. "Erm . . . Dean . . . do excuse . . . ."

            "What is it, Lavender?" he asked.

            She lowered her hand, grinning even still. "What ball are we talking about?"

            Hermione answered, looking across the table at Harry and Lavender sitting next to each other. "The thirteenth centennial is this year, so we're celebrating in December. If you haven't already gotten the owl, you should get it tomorrow."

            Dean continued. "We, the Prefects, with the exception of Hermione and me, are responsible for the planning of the entire event." Dean shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He leaned over, resting the palms of his hands on the wooden table. "It'll be held here at Hogwarts in the Great Hall, and the house elves-" Hermione grimaced, "-will be responsible for all the food for the evening. We've got to find a band to perform for entertainment, as well as deal with the decorations, the students attending the ball, and those sort of things. Next meeting, we'll assign duties, and such. Everyone clear on that?"

            There was silence. Hermione looked at each face, clearly disinterested in what was going on, save Lavender, Mandy, and one of the fifth year Slytherins whom she had yet to meet. Harry finally spoke up. "Why the ball though? Is there a ball every centennial?"

            "It was Dumbledore's idea," Dean admitted. "There wasn't a ball in December of 1897, and if I remember what Hermione told me," he nodded in her direction, "There wasn't one before that. Dumbledore thinks we should though. And if that's what he wants, that's what he wants."

            Harry shrugged. "Seems like a load of unnecessary stress," he muttered to no one but himself.

            "What's the matter, Potter? Afraid you have no mummy to take you to the ball?" he sneered, "Don't fear," he jerked his head, flicking a few strands of his silvery blond hair out of his face, "I'm sure Weasley there would be happy to escort you."

            "Watch it Malfoy," hissed Dean.

            Ginny blushed furiously, her cheeks matching the tone of her coppery, red curls. Embarrassment kept her from speaking, but obviously that wasn't the case for Harry. Going red with anger, Harry began to push away from the table, "Don't get my mother confused with yours, Malfoy."

            "I wouldn't, Potter. Considering I have one to speak of."

            Harry stood completely up, looking down at Draco right across the table from him. His hand moved toward his pocket, reaching for his wand slowly but surely.

            Dean brought his fist down on the table, the sound of him rapping on the wood echoing through the hall. The air had grown so thick and tense anyone could've sliced it right down the middle. "That's enough. From both of you. Another word from either of you, and I'll take five points from Slytherin-"

            "And Gryffindor," Blaise interjected. "Harry didn't exactly remain silent."

            "Since when are the two of you on first name basis?" spoke up Mandy, who'd been watching Harry and Draco intently. 

            Blaise, who had never been fond of her fellow seventh year began to stand herself. "Did anyone address you? Who invited you to speak?"

            "I did," Mandy hissed. "Don't you start with me, or Harry for that matter, Zabini. No one likes hearing you talk."

            "You stuck up wench," Blaise hissed. She picked her wand up off the table and clenched it in one of her thin, delicate, pale hands. Draco looked between the two girls, smirking as Harry continued to glare down at him, hand still ready. Mandy stood up, just a seat between her and Harry, glaring at her Slytherin counterpart. "Don't you dare talk to me that way . . ." Blaise whispered dangerously.

            "Or you'll what?" demanded Harry. "You wouldn't want to have detention, would you?"

            "That's enough!" roared Hermione and Dean in unison, both glaring at all three standing students. Dean's chest heaved as he looked from Blaise, to Draco, to Mandy, to Harry. Ginny was still pink, and the rest of the people at the table were looking on, suddenly fascinated. Hermione seemed to be the only one able to speak. "Honestly!" she yelled. Then quieter, "Ten points from Ravenclaw. Ten points from Slytherin. Ten points from Gryffindor. Gracious, it seems as though the only ones that can control themselves are the Hufflepuffs. Sit down _all of you! _Don't think I won't take away more points. And put those wands away. Use them, and you can be sure you'll find yourselves helping Filch clean the toilets."

            Still glaring at one another, Blaise, Mandy, and Harry all retook their seats. Dean took a deep breath, his dark eyes locked on Hermione, he spoke slowly. "Would anyone like to make a motion?" he growled.

            Susan Bones raised her hand, eyes wide as she stared forward across the table at the Ravenclaws. After a quick nod from Dean, she stood and spoke. "Motion to end the meeting."

            "Perfect," Dean whispered. "Do we have a second?"

            Three other hands went up, but Mackenzie Wood spoke. "I second that motion."

            "Those in favor?"

            "Aye!" came nearly all of the twenty four prefect voices. Draco Malfoy remained silent, looking away, quickly disinterested.

            "All opposed?" Dean asked quickly.

            "Meeting dismissed," sighed Hermione, gathering her things. At once, everyone stood, stretching and beginning to talk immediately. 

            Dean shouted out before anyone had reached the door. "I want _all _the seventh years to say. And that includes you Malfoy, so turn around right now. You leave, and I'll make sure you get a detention."

            Neither Dean nor Hermione spoke until all the sixth fifth years had cleared the room. "Shut the door please, Ginny," Hermione requested politely as Ginny excused herself as quickly as she could. With a firm _Click! _the door was closed. Dean, seething with anger, spoke first.

"Bloody hell, what do you think you all were doing? Acting stupid like that, completely unnecessary.-"

"So are you the judge of that?"

"Yes," Dean snapped, "I am. You lot sure set a great example for those younger than you, I'm sure. Bickering like that immediately when you get a chance. Might as well go from first to second year, I imagine."

"Should that happen again," Hermione said quietly, glaring at Mandy who was looking down at the table, going pink, "The consequence will be much worse than just losing ten points for your house."

            "I'll take away your invitation to the ball, I'll make sure you get a detention. You all never act like that in front of everyone again. Disrespecting each other and making us look bad. A bunch of daft sods . . ." Dean ranted. "I honestly don't care if you all like each other or not," he spat, "But you'll get along in here, or you'll be spending your evening cleaning the loos. You'll have to learn to deal with each other one way or another. Now, get out."

            Without exchanging any words, everybody got up and left as quickly as they could, staring at the ground. One by one they went, until it was only Hermione left at the door, looking at Dean who followed behind her. "Are you all right?" she asked quietly, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

            He opened the door and moved aside for her to walk through first. "The first prefect meeting of the year. The first time and you and I can't even control all of them-"

"Dean?" Hermione whispered.

He gave her his best smile. "I'm fine. It's just going to be a long year . . . ."

"Hey," she patted his back as they walked out, "It worked out, right?"

~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

Thank you so much for reading! Thanks to my beta readers, Wolf of Solitude, Pandora_E, and Clio. I appreciate you all muchly. I really hope you'll review. There are more chapters up (two more, to be precise). If you are interested, please join me over on Schnoogle:

Http://www.schnoogle.com/authorLinks/Ray_Marie

Copy and paste that address, and you'll get to the story. Follow it if you will! One always needs an egoboost, of course g.


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